


Harry Potter and the Beasts of Galar

by LORDXVNV



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Pokemon Fusion, Darker Pokemon World, Dynamax (Pokemon), Elemental Magic, F/M, Galar is Britain for those keeping track, Galar-chihou | Galar Region (Pokemon), Gen, Harry Potter is Lord Potter, Hermione Granger Has Issues, Legendary Pokemon, Pokemon Battles, Pokemon Training, Ron Weasley Needs a Hug, Talking Pokemon, Wizarding Galar, Wizarding History (Harry Potter), Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter), Wizarding Traditions (Harry Potter), being a lord in this au kind of sucks actually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29550318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LORDXVNV/pseuds/LORDXVNV
Summary: "There was an old saying — “Dulce et Decorum est pro patria mori”, meaning “it is sweet and proper to die for one’s country.” Harry could only assume that his parents had lived by these principles, and had chosen to die for them."Harry Potter is a normal boy who lives in the Galar Region, a peaceful land that is often thrown into turmoil by the Dynamax Storms. His aunt and uncle won’t allow him to go on a Pokemon journey and become a hero who faces down the Dynamax threat. But one day, a mysterious letter arrives telling him he is a wizard--a human with the same strange and mysterious powers as Pokemon, and he is taken to Hogwarts, where he must become a soldier and defend his homeland.
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. vs Dursleys

**Author's Note:**

> The worldbuilding premise of this fic is a heavy focus in the first chapter; I aim not to have too many unpleasant surprises about what you're getting into, so if you read the first chapter and don't like this, the fic isn't for you.
> 
> One of the inspirations of this fic was DaystarEld's "Pokemon: The Origin of Species." I borrow certain elements of his premise, which will be obvious to readers of his; however, I have not kept up with his fic and the themes and story I aim to convey are different from what I've read of his. Nevertheless, his story is a worthwhile read if you are interested in a more down-to-earth exploration of Pokemon through a scientific lens.

Mr. And Mrs. Dursley of Number 4 Privet Drive were perfectly normal Galarians, thank you very much. Mrs. Dursley stayed at home to take care of the children, and Mr. Dursley worked at Grunnings, an Excadrill management firm. His company would train Excadrill for use in building projects, taking care that none of them knew restricted moves. Excadrill were mole Pokemon with drill arms and drill heads, so they were very useful in construction, prospecting, and search-and-rescue if trained properly, but unruly ones could collapse multiple buildings in minutes, with countless casualties.

The Dursleys had a son, Dudley, and a nephew, a young Harry Potter. They loved both of them very much. Young Harry’s parents had been Pokemon trainers of a sort, and they had died in a tragic way, leaving Harry an orphan, but you never would have known it. The Dursleys had raised both of them as their sons, though the two of them had grown to be quite different. Dudley was a sporty boy; he loved boxing and running and football, and would gladly challenge Harry to a skirmish or two with their friends. But Harry had bigger dreams. Harry dreamed of being a Pokemon trainer, of traveling and seeing the world and making friends on his adventures, and if duty called, to risk his life in service to the region of Galar.

The Dursleys were surprisingly decent parents, but they pooh-pooh’d all of Harry’s dreams. Whenever Harry talked about leaving home at ten, even when he was eight, Aunt Petunia would burst into tears and beg him not to throw away his life, and Uncle Vernon would sit him down, and give him a long lecture on how everyone had a part to play in the functioning of society, and that a career at Grunnings would give him as much a chance to work with Pokemon as journeying as a trainer, and his dreams were making his aunt upset so why couldn’t he just toe the line and be like Dudley, who had no foolish ambitions of becoming a Pokemon trainer and risking his life on a journey, and were they really such terrible adoptive parents that he wanted to throw his life away?

Harry thought he was old enough to know the risks. There was an old saying — “Dulce et Decorum est pro patria mori”, meaning “it is sweet and proper to die for one’s country.” Harry could only assume that his parents had lived by these principles, and had chosen to die for them.

For Galar was not a safe place. Most of the world had problems stemming from the impossibility of coexisting with legendary Pokemon. Legendary Pokemon were seen as manifestations of nature itself. Where they flew, the skies ripped themselves apart with storms. Where they tread, the earth shook and the world itself was contorted. In some places, their coming was dreaded. In others, they were worshiped as gods. And in some ways, they defied explanation by any mortal science.

But Galar’s legendary Pokemon were buried far in its past, or exiled to stories of the Otherworld. Galar faced an entirely different problem: that of Dynamax energy. When a Pokemon Dynamaxed, it became very large. There were various scientific explanations: Either the Pokemon created a massive hard-light projection of itself, or it was warping space to appear larger. Either way, the effect was that a two foot tall Pikachu could become a fifty-foot-tall Pikachu. Dynamax was increasingly popular in the Galar Pokemon League, which had skyrocketed in popularity ever since a recent development had made controlled Dynamaxing more possible in gym battles — though only for very brief periods of time. No gym challenge would pass without both Pokemon entering their Dynamax forms, titans looming above the battleground, and it was almost possible to forget the danger of the phenomenon.

There was a darker side to the power of Dynamax. Dynamaxing was not constrained to the gym stadium. Whatever eldritch energy powered Dynamaxing flowed through the fields and meadows of Galar, between rolling hills and rocky moors, through all the wild areas between heavily fortified cities, pooling in places of power. Often, these places of power overlapped with Pokemon dens, where various wild Pokemon would gather, seeking a taste of transcendence. Trainers would organize raids upon these Pokemon dens, with the goal of capturing powerful Pokemon accustomed to Dynamax.

It was an inherently risky venture, but a necessary one. Harry wasn’t overly familiar with the developing science of Dynamaxing, but he’d heard that capturing Dynamaxed Pokemon reduced the risk of Dynamax storms, and even a marginal decrease of the risk was worth almost any cost. Dynamax storms were rare enough that every city would face one a decade, but when they occurred, the devastation was unpredictable and extreme.

Rarely, usually no more than once a year, a Dynamaxed Pokemon would burst out of a Pokemon den, having absorbed an excessive amount of Dynamax energy. Even the most benevolent Pokemon with the most predictable Dynamax behavior, became dangerous and almost predatory in the open air. Graceful Butterfree, with their purple bodies, red compound eyes, and gossamer wings, would become harbingers of pollution; the powders of their wings would spread hundreds of kilometers, creating a poisonous and paralytic cloud of death. Peaceful Pokemon, like mighty Wailord, gentle blue seabound giants under normal circumstances, would float over the countryside, huge amounts of water sloughing off of their bodies from some unknowable source, causing massive floods. And some were Pokemon that were dangerous even under normal circumstances, such as spectral Gengar. They were ghostly presences that hid in shadows and stole warmth, predators that consumed life force itself — but under the influence of Dynamax energy, they would become voids of information that survivors would only describe as the endless hunger of death itself. Once the Dynamax phenomenon escaped into the wild, it became too dangerous to fight.

When Dynamaxed Pokemon escaped their usual dens, they would wander the wilds, bringing terrible chaos to the regions below. Wild Pokemon would flee from them, frenzied and terrified by the energy of the storm, lashing out at whatever they encountered. And almost always, the Dynamax storm would head towards a city, a wave of Pokemon fleeing from the disaster it brought, lashing out at whatever they came across. Pokemon trainers would be called to the defense of the city, urged to protect lives at any cost possible, until the Dynamax energy dissipated and the onslaught was over. Every trainer had a duty to the region of Galar. Most would live. Some would die in glorious battle. And some would attain glory, capture powerful Pokemon in the process, and become heroes of Galar.

But that part didn’t matter. What mattered was that they would fight until the storm was over, as the Dynamax energy dissipated. For some reason, Dynamax energy didn’t last long once it got too close to a city, so if the onslaught could be survived, there would be little danger from the Dynamaxed Pokemon itself. Harry had heard explanations for why this was the case — either the Pokemon Gyms drew the energy away from the storm, or the urban environment was inimical to the mechanisms of Dynamax. He didn’t give much thought to it — he was just glad that he would likely never face a fifty-foot-tall Pikachu in single combat.

Not that he would ever have the chance to face any sort of Pikachu in combat. The Dursleys had strictly forbidden him from even considering a Pokemon journey, and had bade him to never even consider befriending a Pokemon. Because of the danger presented by the Dynamax threat, most children needed to seriously consider their future vocations between the ages of ten and sixteen. Harry would have jumped to get a Pokemon as soon as he had turned ten, but Uncle Vernon had taken him to Grunnings on his tenth birthday.

“Working with Excadrill is honest,” he’d said, gruffly through his mustache. “It’s a good day’s worth of work, and it builds character, and it’s a way to pay your dues to this country without risking your life.”

Harry hadn’t argued with him, then, because just because he was relatively sure that he could be a Pokemon trainer if he was just given a chance. It was so unfair that his aunt and uncle stomped on all of his dreams. For the next year, he’d apprenticed at Grunnings, while Dudley went to various human sports training camps. Every day at dinner, Dudley would gush on about how wonderful rugby or football or golf was, while Harry poked at his food and tried not to think too hard about how he wasn’t allowed near the Excadrill for safety reasons.

As his eleventh birthday was nearing, and as Dudley was starting to get more and more big boned from the necessities of being a rugby player, Harry was starting to grow resigned to the possibility that he might really be an Excadrill manager for the rest of his natural life. He could see it now — “Harry Potter, 50, Grunnings employee-of-the-year for 40 years in a row, died tragically by walking into the path of a rampaging Charizard. He leaves behind nobody who cared enough about him to possibly explain his behavior.”

But that all changed when he stumbled across Petunia and Vernon arguing in the kitchen, a wrinkled letter and envelope on the table behind them.

“This has to be a scam!” Vernon said, his voice on the border of shouting. “Who could possibly want the boy for an elite Pokemon trainer school? He’s shown no aptitude, demonstrated no theoretical knowledge — there’s no reason anyone would expect him to make good trainer material!”

“His parents were,” said Petunia, shakily, “and it tends to run in families.”

“What runs in families? What about you, or Dudley?” Vernon said. But Petunia only shook her head.

Vernon took a few heaving breaths, and then bent down so his head was at the same level as Petunia’s.

“Pet—love—does the government have a secret child soldier program? Is this what they want him for?”

“Darling, if they did have a secret child soldier program, what makes you think I could tell you?”

“Well, this letter—”

At this moment, they realized that the letter and its accompanying envelope had vanished from the table. Harry had stolen it, somehow evading their detection.

“Oh,” said Petunia. “He’ll know, now.”

“Damn it!” Vernon shouted. “I did not spend ten years crushing that boy’s hopes and dreams for it all to go to nothing! I’ll go get him.”

Harry, however, was as fast a reader as he was an infiltrator. He scanned the letter, a great hope rising in his chest with every word:

_Mr. Harry Potter_

_Second Bedroom_

_Dursley House_

_Number 4 Privet Drive_

_Wyndon, Galar_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on September 1. We await your message by no later than July 31. Failure to reply will trigger investigation and rescue if necessary._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

_He plunged his hand into the envelope and pulled out a folded list._

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

_UNIFORM_

_First-year students will require:_

_1\. Three sets of plain work robes (black)_

_2\. One plain pointed hat (black, Grade A psychic enhancement rating) for day wear_

_3\. One pair of protective gloves (all-purpose or hand-to-hand combat rated)_

_4\. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings.)_

_Please note that all pupils’ clothes should carry name tags._

_COURSE BOOKS_

_All students should have a copy of each of the following:_

_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk_

_The Secret History of Galar by Bathilda Bagshot_

_Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling_

_A Beginner’s Guide to Combat Transmutation by Emeric Switch_

_One Thousand Pokemon-Based Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore_

_Field Medicine for Wizards by Arsenius Jigger_

_Legendary Pokemon and How to Learn From Them by Newt Scamander_

_The Dark Forces: A Guide to Combat by Quentin Trimble_

_OTHER EQUIPMENT_

_1 wand_

_1 chemistry set (Grade S, field approved)_

_1 telescope set_

_Students may bring up to three Pokemon if previously owned._

_OUTSIDE POKEBALLS ARE STRICTLY FORBIDDEN FROM USE IN HOGWARTS_

A shadow fell over Harry. He looked up to see the hulking form of Uncle Vernon.

“You’ve read it, I see,” said Vernon. “And I’m sure you’re smart enough to see that it’s all nonsense?”

“If it is all nonsense,” Harry said, “then what do you think happens after July 31st?”

“Let me see that,” Vernon said, and Harry handed him the letter.

“Trigger investigation and rescue if necessary,” muttered Vernon. “If it’s nonsense, nothing.”

“And if it is something?”

“Then you’ll need to make the decision that’s best for your future,” Vernon said. “You’re a smart boy, Harry. I’d hate to see you throw away your life.”

* * *

July 31st came and went. Nothing happened, and Harry was about to resign himself to a very short life in service to Grunnings. Then on a slow August afternoon, slightly after supper, there was a knock on their door. Aunt Petunia was the one to answer, and Harry strained to eavesdrop.

“Ah,” Petunia said after a moment. “It’s you.”

“I’m afraid so,” said a woman. Harry couldn’t tell how young she was.

Petunia shouted, shakily, “Dudleykins? Be a dear and go up to your room.”

“But ma, I can’t save an online game, my ladder ranking—”

“Go,” said Vernon. After a moment, Dudley got up and left.

“This is Professor McGonagall,” said Petunia. “She’s—”

“The Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?” Harry shouted, jumping up from the table. “My answer is yes! I want to be the very best, that no one ever was!”

Professor McGonagall was dressed very practically. She looked much like a stereotypical witch, as she had a pointed hat, but while her robes had a good bit of extra cloth, they looked like they were made of polyester or some other athletic material. She looked like she was equally prepared for either a magical ritual, or a cross-country run, or a Pokemon battle.

“Please excuse the boy,” said Vernon. “He’s young.”

“But this is what I’ve always wanted!” Harry said.

“You don’t even know what you’re signing up for!” Vernon shouted.

“I’m afraid that your uncle is correct,” said Professor McGonagall. “It is best that you know exactly what is expected of you, and how it differs from what you are dreaming of—though I’m afraid this may be less optional than you believe.”

“As long as it involves a Pokemon journey,” Harry said, “I’ll enjoy it. It doesn’t even need the journey.”

McGonagall looked at him with a sad smile. “So like your parents you are. You, Mr. Potter, are a wizard.”

“I’m a what?” said Harry, confounded.

“A wizard,” McGonagall said. “One of the few humans who is capable of using Pokemon moves without aid, to be precise. An ability that most would call magic.”

“Don’t be absurd,” said Vernon. “Humans are human, and Pokemon are Pokemon. There’s a difference, and it’s real. Pick up a biology textbook.”

McGonagall only smiled. Then, she glowed a brilliant white. The light filled the room, shining out all the windows, and Harry had to shield his eyes. Yet he’d seen this before in recordings of League Battles. The move Flash allowed the user to blind foes for a time, decreasing their ability to accurately attack. The effect could be faked using sufficiently strong lights, but this seemed like the genuine article.

“That was Flash!” said Harry, shocked. “You used Flash! You’re human!”

“Nonsense, boy,” said Vernon. “It’s probably some sort of trick—she had a Pokemon make a substitute of her or is using a Ditto to take her shape.”

“It’s real,” said Petunia. “Vernon, it’s all real.”

But Vernon was undeterred. “Alright, and just how do you exist? Was one of your parents a Pokemon or something?”

“Vernon!” shouted Petunia, scandalized. “Professor McGonagall is a respectable woman!”

“It’s quite alright,” said McGonagall. “Mr. Potter’s father was a Sawsbuck, after all.”

“No he wasn’t,” said Petunia. “James was a human. Barely, from his table manners, but human.”

“Yes, he was that too.”

“Preposterous,” Vernon muttered.

“In the ancient past, verging on prehistoric times, marriage between humans and Pokemon was not forbidden,” said McGonagall.

“That’s bestiality,” said Vernon. “Even an Alakazam only has the emotional intelligence of a three year old!”

“In most cases, yes,” said McGonagall. “But in those ancient days, there was no distinction between humans and Pokemon. Humans and Pokemon were one and the same. Pokemon were as smart as humans, and humans had a much greater affinity for the natural world, all driven by some mysterious factor. We call this x-factor magic.”

Vernon paled. “Human-level intelligent Pokemon… I can’t tell whether that’s scarier than humans capable of Pokemon moves.”

“Rest assured that such highly intelligent Pokemon are extremely rare, and that they suffer from the same vulnerabilities as any Pokemon. In the ancient past, the ancestors of wizards and witches intermarried gladly with intelligent Pokemon, and to this day we inherit some of their powers. As the myths of Sinnoh tell us, ‘There once were humans who married Pokemon. It was a time before there were differences to distinguish the two.’”

“And you think I’m a wizard?” said Harry.

“Has there ever been a time when odd things have happened around you?” said Professor McGonagall. “Perhaps when you fell, the earth came up to meet you, or perhaps things would float around you?”

“Yes,” said Harry, remembering a particularly odd incident that had happened at Grunnings.

“Then you are one of us,” said McGonagall. “And so you shall come to Hogwarts.”

Harry had a thousand questions. If he was a wizard, then was that why Vernon and Petunia hadn’t let him train with Pokemon? Did wizards use Pokemon in battle? If wizards were real, why didn’t they come to the defense of the cities during Dynamax events? He could go and be a wizard, but he knew his heart wouldn’t be into it if he couldn’t be a Pokemon trainer and serve his country at the same time.

“Now see here—” said Vernon, “the boy’s got a bright future ahead of him—I will not be giving any aid so he can join some namby-pampy cult—”

McGonagall stared at Petunia. “Have you told them nothing?”

Petunia shook her head, mutely.

McGonagall nodded. “You’ve more control than most. Lily always spoke highly of you, and it is a state secret. Sit.”

Vernon and Petunia found themselves sitting, as if by magic.

McGonagall pulled out a thin wooden rod. When she waved it, an image of an Electrode, a round sphere that resembled an upside down Pokeball, appeared before them. She tapped the image, and it swelled. The image of the Electrode glowed ominously purple, as if a veil was rippling about it, dwarfing the land beneath. This was an illusion, but it was true to life. Through the mysterious energies of the Dynamax, Pokemon could expand a hundredfold, defying logic and reason.

“Dynamaxing. I assume that you are both familiar with the term? That you are both… fans?”

“Of course,” said Vernon eagerly. “Always wondered what it would be like to have a Dynamax Excadrill. Pity it only works in stadiums. Well, and during the storms. And in dens. But that’s too dangerous for my blood.”

McGonagall nodded. “The recent incorporation of Dynamaxing in the Pokemon League is the culmination of thousands of years of magical and technological engineering. From our ancient druidic ancestors until now, Dynamaxing has been cultivated and controlled with various degrees of success. It is both a part of our heritage, yet a threat that must be contained. In our children’s time, or perhaps our children’s children, when energy consumption is such that Galar particles are absorbed as fast as they are emitted, extreme Dynamax events will hopefully be no more than a distant memory.”

She waved her wand. “Do you ever wonder the reason why we have such restrictive laws? Why we deem some techniques restricted?”

“Of course!” said Vernon. “Ever since they’ve started using Dynamax in Pokemon Gyms, I’ve wanted to see a G-Max Explosion!”

“And that,” said McGonagall sharply, “is precisely what we wish to avoid!”

She waved her wand. The Electrode glowed, and then exploded, a wave of white washing outward. There was the distant sound of screams. The image became that of a city. The wall of white overwhelmed it all. When the light had gone, there was nothing. McGonagall waved her wand, and the image zoomed out. Harry wasn’t sure what he was looking at — at first, it seemed like water was rushing to fill a pothole. But then the image zoomed out further, and with dawning horror Harry saw the sun rising over the curved earth, and a hole in the sea where Galar had been.

“The storms are bad enough, but thousands of years have gone into reducing the damage they might inflict upon us all. The initial Dynamax event is restricted to certain power spots, and trainers raid those spots often to capture Pokemon with the propensity for Dynamax. But even if we capture 99.95% of possible Dynamaxers, the 0.5% that remains free is enough to trigger the Dynamax storms. The species involved can be any in an area. The manifestation of the G-Max moves are derived from the specimen’s knowledge itself, but if Gigantamax occurs, the effects are unpredictable. The threat to human life is unimaginable.”

Vernon had gone pale, for once his bluster silenced.

“What’s Gigantamax?” Harry said.

“Gigantamax is a form of Dynamax, but where Dynamax merely enhances the subject, Gigantamax causes transformations in physical form,” McGonagall said. “While it is rare enough to have escaped popular attention so far, It is far more unpredictable than Dynamax. We cannot predict whether some foreign species of Pokemon will have a Gigantamax form, and whether that form might manifest a truly destructive G-Max Move. And that is why we fight. That is why we put every wizard on the line. Dynamaxing is an existential threat that has been turned into entertainment, but it takes every witch and wizard we have to keep the threat at bay.”

“But that doesn’t make sense!” said Harry. “Dynamax energy dissipates when it gets too close to a city!”

“A fiction,” McGonagall said. “The technological infrastructure of cities wicks energy away from a Dynamaxed Pokemon, yes, but only if that Pokemon has been sufficiently weakened such that the Dynamax process is no longer self-sustaining. It is the job of witches and wizards to weaken the Dynamax in the heart of the storm itself. Do you understand, now, what your life shall become?”

Harry could see it now — a life far riskier, and yet far more glorious, than merely going on raid after raid or traveling from city to city chasing the storm surge: to fight in the heart of the Dynamax storms themselves, striking at nature itself. But how had he never heard about this before? Why didn’t more people seek this glory?

“If you told more people—”

“We would be condemning them to death. The natural instinct of the average Pokemon trainer would be to pursue glory or to seek to capture these wild Dynamaxings themselves, but fighting a Dynamaxed Pokemon at the heart of the storm is incredibly dangerous because of the esoteric effects. Witches and wizards are more durable and more agile than normal humans, and even we require years of training before allowing young people to enter the storm itself. If the world knew the truth, people would die seeking glory, instead of serving as best they could.”

“More durable and more agile?” Harry said. He didn’t feel particularly durable or agile or strong or different from other kids. Right now, he felt targeted by McGonagall’s words.

“You’ll learn more in your classes,” McGonagall said. “Tell me, Mr. Potter, wouldn’t you much prefer to learn a move right now? Though more properly, when used by witches or wizards, we call them spells.”

After some quick interrogation, McGonagall determined that Harry was most likely capable of using Quick Attack, a move that usually allowed its user to strike the first blow during the flow of combat. However, it had a variety of other applications. McGonagall explained that Quick Attack was used by many witches and wizards to move quickly reposition during battle; it was good for short bursts of rapid motion, but ineffective for longer distances. Furthermore, the user of Quick Attack was acting on reflex, and so the spell was not good precise actions. However, despite its limitations, it was still useful to know, and within half an hour Harry had learned how to move two meters in the blink of an eye.

“Dudley! Dudley! Let’s play tag!” he shouted, and the two fled into the backyard.

* * *

There was no denying it anymore. Harry was a wizard, and was endowed with great and terrible power. And so his duty to his region was greater and more terrible than most. Vernon was clenching and unclenching his fists, while Petunia was holding back tears, her jaw clenched. McGonagall considered consoling them, but there was no reassurance she could give that would not be a lie.

“How come your lot don’t run the world?” Vernon blurted out.

“Excuse me?” said McGonagall. She seemed rather amused by the notion. It was certainly more interesting than the bravado she got from many parents.

“The threat of renegade trainers alone is one that’s pounded into our skulls from days that we’re born,” said Vernon. “One renegade with a fire-type could burn a hundred people to death. One renegade with a poison-type could taint an entire city’s water supply. One renegade with an education in psychology and a psychic-type could do unthinkable damage to the fabric of our society. And yet there are what, hundreds of your lot, with the power of Pokemon and the intelligence of human minds. What’s stopping one of your lot walking into Motostoke and calling a Draco Meteor and destroying the whole city from space? How have you not conquered the region or the world yet? You’re faster than us, and you’re stronger than us, and you have bonds with human-intelligent Pokemon.”

“A rather astute question, Mr. Dursley,” said McGonagall. “Frankly, it’s matter of numbers and checks and balances. The Gyms are all aware of our existence, of course, and there aren’t that many of us. We’re simply able to fight besides our Pokemon in a way most trainers cannot. It’s not as possible as you’re implying. Such power is… rare, even among us.”

“But it is possible,” said Vernon. “Microevolutionarily, you have an absurd number of advantages. Why hasn’t it happened? One person, with one devastating first strike—”

“Because they fought to stop it,” said Petunia softly. Vernon started.

“There was a war,” McGonagall said, as softly, even though Harry was no longer there. “One of the four most elite figures of our society, Tom Riddle, the Slytherin, decided that a position of supremacy was the best way to safeguard Galar from the Raids. The other three Elites disagreed. Vehemently.”

“Galar doesn’t have an Elite 4,” said Vernon.

“Not in public, and that’s technically not their name,” said McGonagall. “But there have been four Elite trainers esteemed in the wizarding community since the time of Merlin himself. They are the four moral fixtures of our society, and while it may not seem so, they serve the purpose that the Elite 4 of other regions do.”

“So what happened to this Riddle fellow?” said Vernon.

“Riddle adopted an absurd moniker, and began a campaign of tactical assaults and assassinations, using his abilities to make it seem as if his actions were those of wild Pokemon or tragic accidents. In public, he argued that these attacks were justification for increased control and movement towards wizarding supremacy for the protection of the people, and the adoption of radical societal reforms. He swayed many to his side, and our government was on the verge of implementing the Riddle Plan when the Ravenclaw of the time, Pandora Lovegood, discovered and revealed his deeds, plunging the wizarding community into civil war.”

“What about the boy’s parents?” said Vernon.

McGonagall frowned. “James and Lily fought at my side, alongside the Gryffindor, Albus Dumbledore. We believed that such supremacy would tear our society apart and risk the peace of Galar. Riddle targeted James and Lily because they were a particular thorn in his side, and because they had rejected his attempts to woo them to his side, but they defeated his followers in every challenge. Then, on Halloween, Riddle himself attacked the Potter home.”

McGonagall looked away, her eyes misty. “We don’t know exactly what happened next. Nobody does. But the next day, it was as if our nation was waking from a great slumber. The Potter home was destroyed, James and Lily were dead on the floor, Riddle’s body was a crumbling husk of ash, and little Harry was unharmed.”

“I never knew,” whispered Petunia, her face ashen. “I never knew.”

“It’s possible that Lily and James succumbed in the process of vanquishing Riddle, but understand — facing Riddle in a direct battle was a death sentence. He was the Slytherin, one of the Elite 4, and his powers were almost unmatched. Of all the other Elite, only Dumbledore was of his caliber. I think it far more likely that Lily and James knew they were facing certain death, and made special preparations.”

“Special preparations?” said Petunia. “My sister knew she was going to die, and she couldn’t let me know ahead of time? Just ‘take care of my son, enjoy, and you don’t even get a proper goodbye’?!?”

She burst into tears.

“Your sister feared making you into one of Riddle’s targets,” McGonagall said. “Lily was sad that the two of you had grown apart, but as one of Riddle’s most vocal opponents contacting you during wartime would have meant your death, so she publicly disavowed you even as she left strict instructions that Harry was to be left to you. She didn’t even dare write anything down, in case Riddle survived and came to hunt you down for vengeance. She was protecting you.”

“So,” said Vernon, “how did this Riddle bloke die? If your moves couldn’t kill him, what possibly could?”

“No one knows, but everyone has guesses. The commonly accepted answer is that the cross of James Potter’s ancient bloodline and Lily Evans’s new and therefore unpredictable bloodline gave Harry some special property that allowed him to resist Riddle’s attacks and survive while simultaneously destroying him—which is absurd, as he was a baby. I personally believe that your sister was a very talented witch, and that she could have discovered some spell to protect her son at the cost of her own life, or that the two of them together were willing to sacrifice themselves for Harry. Regardless, Harry is celebrated as ‘the boy who lived’, and he is a national symbol.”

Vernon grimaced. When he spoke again, it was in the voice that McGonagall recognized as ‘faux-reasonable’.

“Professor McGonagall,” he said, “My nephew is a good boy. Hard-working, intelligent, got a good head on his shoulders and a fine life ahead of him. The problem is that he’s got one flaw — a constant hope and dream that he’s special in some way. And I only really call this a flaw because it distracts him from being the absolute best that he can be at his work, his schooling, whatever he tries. Now you come here and tell me that he is special, and that your entire community celebrates him as a hero, but he has done nothing to deserve that— it was either a fluke of his birth, or his mother’s efforts. I’m sure you can agree with me that such a thing would have very bad effects on a child’s development. So, perhaps, you could sit him down and let him know that, if you take him to this school of yours at all.”

Professor McGonagall was unaffected. She had been teaching for many years, she had dealt with many generations of angry parents, and she had personally stared down the current Slytherin, Lucius Malfoy, and told him that no matter who his parents were he would have to prove himself. (Sometimes, she regretted pointing that out to him, given his current political stances.) Only rarely did parents ask her to point out that their kids were aggressively average.

“Mr. Dursley,” said McGonagall kindly, “Everything you have said is true. But one day, Galar will need your nephew to stand in battle. When that day comes, it is better that he is arrogant and trained, rather than ignorant and untrained. The world will need him, and hopefully he can become the hero it deserves.”

Vernon shook his head. “You’ll get him killed.”

“Make no mistake, Mr and Mrs. Dursley. I will do my best to keep his head from getting inflated. But alas—children are the least predictable of us all.”

Petunia still stared into her tea. “He’s so young!” she said. “You’re going to take him from me, just like you took Lily.”

McGonagall nodded, though her eyes were sad. “We have no choice.”

She looked outside, where Harry was still laughing and running circles around Dudley with his newfound knowledge of Quick Attack. “I have watched generations of children grow up to be warriors and give their lives against the Wild Dynamax forces. Yet if they did not, if we did not, then all Galar would be overrun by year’s end.”


	2. vs Ollivander

Harry had been told that two other children who had been raised in the Muggle world, Hermione Granger and Dean Thomas, would be joining him and McGonagall on a shopping trip in Diagon Alley, a hidden street in Wyndon.

They were meeting in the Pokemon Center before going to Diagon Alley, so they had time to mingle amongst themselves before going forth. McGonagall had emphasized that fellowship was essential.

Hermione had seemed like a bookish, nerdy girl. She had immediately shared that she was interested in becoming a Pokemon researcher who specialised in the sociological effects of integrating Pokemon into human societies, and to improve that integration. When Harry had asked whether that was the same thing as studying the power of the bonds between humans and Pokemon, she had stared at him with something between consternation and disgust, and said:

“That’s pseudoscience—sorry, ‘battle science’, and frankly I still think battles for sport are somewhat barbaric, and I’ve been journeying for a year!”

Harry had been about to retort that battles between humans and Pokemon strengthened their bond, and trainers with strong bonds with their Pokemon tended to have higher survival rates when they raided Dynamax power spots, but at that moment Dean Thomas had come up to them and introduced themselves.

Dean Thomas was a black boy who seemed to have been torn between two careers before his region had called him to his duty. He had debated becoming either a footballer or a Pokemon artist. When Harry had introduced himself, and given his elevator pitch about how he’d been working with Excadrill so far, Dean had raised an eyebrow. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to be Harry _Potter_ , would you?”

“I am,” said Harry, a bit confused.

“Is your cousin named Dudley Dursley?”

“He is! How do you know him?”

Dean grimaced. “He was at a rival football camp. Our teams had dinner after a skirmish, and he ranted for a while about you, and how unfair it was that your parents wouldn’t let you go on a journey.”

“I guess it’s for the best,” said Harry. “I get to go to Hogwarts, instead.”

“Did they at least let you have a Pokemon?” said Hermione, suddenly concerned. “Studies show that humans who have close contact with Pokemon in childhood and adolescence grow up to be more empathetic as adults, and have a better sense of perspective in the world, on average.”

Harry shook his head. “I only got to be around the Excadrill at Grunnings — that’s my Uncle’s drilling firm — and I wasn’t allowed to get friendly with them. What about you two? Do you have a Smeargle, Dean?”

Dean smiled wistfully. “I’d love a Smeargle, to help me paint, but they’re hard to get a hold of. No, I just have Mickey here.”

He pulled a Pokeball out of his pocket, and pressed a button. With a flash of light, a Minccino appeared. It was a small, grey rodent with large ears, and an even larger tail. The tail was fluffy, and as they watched, Mickey the Minccino sniffed its surroundings and immediately began to sweep its tail back and forth across the floor.

“Interesting,” said Hermione. “I thought Minccino’s predilection to cleaning was… folklore.”

“I thought so too, but this little guy can’t help but keep me from being messy!” Dean said. He laughed as Minccino jumped onto his shoulder and started cleaning his face.

Even Hermione smiled a little at that. She grabbed her own Pokeball, and released her Pokemon.“Lutra, go!”

The light resolved into a bipedal blue otter, with a round white head, a short blue tail, and a pale yellow shell on its stomach.

“An Oshawott?” Harry said. “I’m surprised you’re allowed to have one.”

Hermione smiled sadly. “My parents were grandfathered in when the restrictions were rolled out, but Lutra here has an Everstone implant, so she can’t evolve. That’s how they mitigate the risk.”

“I’m afraid that won’t do, Miss Granger,” said Professor McGonagall, who had somehow appeared behind them without them noticing. “As a witch, you are entitled to as much power as you can handle, so we can probably arrange for the Everstone to be removed.”

“Professor McGonagall!”

McGonagall smiled. “I see you’ve already released your Pokemon from their Poke Balls. You won’t be needing those for much longer.”

“You don’t use Pokeballs?” said Hermione, frowning, though she didn’t try to summon back her Oshawott. “That seems impractical. The stasis effect of digitisation extends a Pokemon’s lifespan to be close to that of humans, and the versatility benefits are unmatched.”

“I do like an inquisitive mind,” said McGonagall, “but we’d best be off. And keep your Pokemon out of their balls.”

They left the Pokemon center, and walked down the cobbled streets of Wyndon. Harry felt rather out of place for not having a partner of his own, as Hermione was protectively clutching her squirming Oshawott Lutra in front of her, while Dean’s Mincinno Mickey was playfully crawling on his shoulders.

As they passed through the throngs of people, McGonagall said, completely casually, “The extended lifetime granted by digitisation isn’t necessary, as the bond between a magical human and their Pokemon extends the Pokemon’s life. The magical energy naturally flows from a witch to her Pokemon, granting a certain longevity. In any case, witches and wizards don’t use mass market Pokeballs. Instead, we use specialized Pokeballs that function off of space expansion and time dilation principles. For the Pokemon of wizards and witches, being in a Pokeball is like a lucid dream. ”

“How does that work?” said Harry.

“Are the three of you familiar with the moves Wonder Room, Trick Room, and Magic Room?” said McGonagall.

“Trick Room lets the slower Pokemon move first in battle, Magic Room prevents Pokemon from using held items, and Wonder Room switches the Defense and Special Defense of the Pokemon in the battle,” Harry said.

McGonagall nodded. “That’s how the effects are described in terms of muggle battle science. The magical and scientific nuance has been reduced to the battle terms. In truth, the ‘Room’ moves allow for temporary alterations to the fabric of reality.”

Hermione crossed her arms, causing her Oshawott to wriggle up a bit to get some air. “I’m sorry Professor McGonagall, but that sounds unfalsifiable. How could you possibly know that there were alterations to reality as opposed to directly hallucinations and psychic phenomena?”

“It’s a fair question, Miss Granger. We’ll make a Ravenclaw out of you yet,” said McGonagall. “But to answer your question, a number of practical tests have been done on each of the Rooms. The most famous is of course the Trick Room Relativity experiment, which should be known in the Pokemon Physics literature, if you’ve ever had a chance to review it. Objects with higher initial velocity will take longer to pass through a Trick Room than objects with lower initial velocities regardless of the reference frame of the observer. But to my initial point, we have finer techniques based on the same principles that allow for the expansion of space, the transformation of time, and a powerful dream-state. Thus, wizard-made Pokeballs should be thought of as similar but distinct from mass market Pokeballs.

“But why did the letter say outside Pokeballs were forbidden?” said Harry.

“Because muggle Pokeballs aren’t designed to capture the soul,” said McGonagall. “Ah, we’re here. Put on this hat, Mr. Potter. Better to hide your scar.”

They entered a dingy old pub. Harry put on the hat, so no one noticed his scar as they made their way through the Leaky Cauldron. “Greetings, Tom,” said McGonagall. “Just showing the new Wyndon Muggleborns to Diagon.”

The barkeep saluted. “Ave morituri, vos saluto.”

McGonagall took them to a back room, and tapped the brick walls with her wand. They folded in on themselves, and a rippling portal appeared. Through it, they could see a street with odd geometry.

“Behold,” said McGonagall, “Diagon Alley. One of Galar’s finest manifestations of Wizard Space.”

They crossed the threshold. Immediately, the air smelled different, like tropical berries and exotic spices.

“Now,” said McGonagall, “I should have the class list right here—”

“SOULS?” Hermione shouted, clearly having held that in for the past several minutes. “Souls don’t exist! There’s simply no proof for the soul! And what would that have to do with Pokeballs?”

“Well, Miss Granger,” said McGonagall, “just what about the existence of souls is so objectionable? There are Ghost-type Pokemon, Pokemon moves that rely on the soul as a mechanism such as Perish Song, Spirit Break, and Destiny Bond, and attestations of the afterlife globally, even from muggle cultures.”

“Ghost-type Pokemon are explainable as folklore and as purely sensory phenomena, Perish Song, Spirit Break, and Destiny Bond can be explained through psychological mirroring phenomena, and of course afterlife visions are just near death experiences. The human brain is prone to a certain type of hallucination when deprived of oxygen, explaining the uniformity.”

“If my knowledge of the literature is still current,” McGonagall said, “Current Pokeball technology is said to digitise the physical form of anything so well that repeated materialisations and dematerialisations are correlated up to the tenth decimal place. Pokemon display minimal differences in behavior before and after storage within a Pokeball, suggesting that the entirety of their behavior and the electrical patterns of their brains can be described perfectly in binary, and that personality is nothing more than duplicable electrical patterns. However, experiments on human digitisation were ceased roughly five years after the advent of Pokeball technology, as every death-row criminal who underwent digitisation was the equivalent of brain dead, even if they were released from the Pokeball seconds later. Have there been any breakthroughs in the six-months since I last reviewed the literature?”

Hermione shook her head. She seemed to be dumbfounded. “No, that’s… that’s surprisingly accurate.”

“We’re wizards and witches, Miss Granger,” McGonagall said. “Not luddites. Much of this will be discussed in your classes, if you so choose, but conventional Pokeballs fail to account for the existence of the immaterial soul, and while much of a Pokemon’s instincts will be preserved in digitisation, the possibility of sentience is not.”

“Sentience is an emergent phenomena,” Hermione said. “It’s more complicated in humans than in Pokemon, which is why human consciousness doesn’t survive digitisation. Sentience fundamentally comes from the interactions of neural structures, most of which haven’t fully been mapped—”

“One such structure is the immaterial soul,” said McGonagall. “Try to capture the immaterial soul in a Pokeball, and when it comes back out it’ll be in all the wrong order. Fragmented. That’s fine for most Pokemon, but nigh-irreparable for humans, and damaging to Pokemon with higher sentience.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “Alright. What does the ‘immaterial soul’ explain that purely sensory phenomena and psychic imprinting don’t?”

“The abnormal longevity of wizards and witches, and their Pokemon partners,” said McGonagall, a slight edge of annoyance creeping into her voice, “the ease wizards and witches have bonding with wild Pokemon compared to muggles, the sentience of the partners of wizards and witches, and of course the capability for wizards and witches to cast spells at all. If you’re at all familiar with Ki-Psi models for explaining martial arts prowess and psychic ability, the soul is part of an extension of the model to a Ki-Psi-Mana paradigm.”

“Oh, a god-of-the-gaps explanation,” said Hermione derisively. “Everything that can’t be accounted for by ki’ or ‘psi’, both of which are conjectures from the already tenuous field of ‘battle science’, is instead explained by the ‘mana’ of the ‘soul’.”

“Miss Granger,” said McGonagall in a strained tone, “while I appreciated your intellectual curiosity, your casual dismissal of an entire field of study based on prescriptive disagreements with its basic premises makes me suspect I shall be seeing you in Gryffindor, instead of Ravenclaw. Your research ambitions, while noble, have not produced anything material or falsifiable—I know, I’ve seen your lack of publications beyond preprints—while the field of battle science continuously produces results that help us hold back the Dynamax storms. The survival of Galarian society depends on the advances made in empirical battle science, no matter how pseudoscientific you may find them. You have not been awarded the rank of Professor in your world, and you are an outsider to ours. If you wish to get anywhere in this life, you must learn to listen instead of preaching and clinging to materialism.”

“I’m sorry, Professor McGonagall,” Hermione said. Her voice sounded small, and with shock Harry realized that she seemed on the verge of tears, a complete turnaround from her confidence from seconds before. To be fair, usually teachers did not tear their students new ones.

“I mean no offense, Miss Granger,” McGonagall said, much more gently. “But in the coming years, you will have many revelations that the world does not work in the way you believed. You would go mad trying to argue away everything that did not fit into your beliefs, but I know how you feel, Miss Granger. I was once eleven myself.”

“Alright,” said Hermione sullenly. Harry glanced at Dean, who shrugged back at him.

McGonagall chuckled. “I will admit, this is not the usual response of most muggleborns to Diagon Alley. Usually, there is more joy and wonder. You will be happier, Miss Granger, if you live with what _is,_ instead of trying to prove that it should not be.”

“So can we go shopping now?” Harry said. He barely understood most of what they were saying, but he’d learned that Pokeballs were bad, that souls were real, and that Hermione believed in most science except for battle science. Mostly he didn’t care about any of that. He wanted a Pokemon, and he didn’t care if he couldn’t keep it in a Pokeball. In fact, he almost felt like it would be better if he never kept his Pokemon in a ball, since they could truly grow closer to each other. There was the mortality concern, that Pokeballs created a state of near stasis that allowed domesticated Pokemon to approach human lifespans, but McGonagall had said something suspiciously similar to ‘magic will handle it’.

“Yes, that’s rather why we’re here,” said McGonagall dryly.

The trip was surprisingly boring, and surprisingly similar to other school shopping trips. McGonagall told them they would have time to explore Diagon on their own later. She barely gave them ten minutes in the bookstore, and only gave them exactly as much time as they needed to get apparel. The main event was Ollivander’s wand shop.

“Synergy,” said Ollivander. “Between wizard, wand and Pokemon.”

Harry stood in rapt attention as Ollivander riffled through drawers of wands, comprising a wall that stretched up to the ceiling.

“A wizard, or witch, is the heart of a team,” said Ollivander. “The nexus through which knowledge flows, and decisions are made. Power, grace, poise — these are choices that must be made! You could be the master of the battlefield, changing nature itself to grant your team strength. Or you could step forth and funnel your Pokemon’s strength into your wand, and strike forth yourself!”

Dean was looking kind of confused, while Hermione had the slightest frown of disapproval on her face.

“Your Pokemon are partners. They are the infinite power of nature itself condensed into beings, tied to living minds. When you fight, when you stand in service to our Region, you will stand as one. Through battle, your bond will deepen, until it will seem as if you are one soul in seven beings. They will lend you their strength, and you will lend them yours.”

Ollivander pulled a wand out from a drawer.

“And a wand—why, the purpose of a wand is to deepen your bond. To be a bridge between wizard and Pokemon. To draw your magic from your soul, and share it with your team, and to let you send it into the world. A truly magnificent warrior is a perfect balance of wizard, Pokemon, and wand.”

Harry frowned. “But I learned to use Quick Attack, without a wand.”

Ollivander chuckled. “Quick Attack is quite basic, Mister Potter. I’m sure you could just as easily learn Tackle, Double Slap, or Pound, but you’ll never perform, say, a Grassy Glide without a wand. And forget about a Fire Blast or a Blizzard.”

“Those correspond to the Conflagration Spell and the Freezing Charm,” added McGonagall.

“So of course, the selection of wand… well, the wand chooses the wizard,” said Ollivander. “But you’ll never know for sure if the wand is a good fit for you until you’ve been tested in battle.”

He smiled. “I see you have an Oshawott, Miss Granger, and you have a Mincinno, Mister Thomas. But, Mister Potter, have you not released your Pokemon?”

Harry’s face burned with embarrassment. “I don’t have any Pokemon.”

“None?” Ollivander said, his voice angered. “None at all?”

“My adoptive parents wanted to keep me safe,” Harry said. It did little to salve his humiliation.

Ollivander shook his head. “I’m also in the matter of finding good first pairs, so you’ll be leaving my shop with two milestones, Mister Potter. Still, to deny a Potter his birthright…”

“My birthright?” said Harry, now confused, his humiliation ebbing away. Hermione and Dean were also interested in the conversation, though Dean was more curious and Hermione seemed to be somewhat concerned.

“It’s rather nothing,” said McGonagall, though she was giving Ollivander a significant look. “You come from a long line of fine wizards and witches, Mr. Potter, and many would find your deprivation from Pokemon contact to be a denial of that heritage. But I am sure that you will make them proud regardless.”

“I’m not sure how to tell you this, Miss Granger,” said Ollivander, “but your temperament is entirely wrong for training Water-type Pokemon. You are most similar to a fire-type, as far as I can tell.”

“Biological essentialism is pseudoscience, ‘human types’ haven’t been verified beyond Dark and Psychic,” Hermione said immediately. “I’m not abandoning Lutra.”

McGonagall cleared her throat.

“Don’t worry, Miss Granger. I’m in the business of amplifying the bonds between human and Pokemon, not replacing them,” said Ollivander. “And Minerva, her opinions have no bearing on what wands will work best for her, though her convictions are admirable. Now, given the duality between you and your partner, either a balancing or neutral type ought to work. And from the strength of your convictions… A Grass-type wand, perhaps, but more tree based…”

In the end, Hermione got a Sawsbuck antler wand, suited for any season. She tested it in a battle against Ollivander and his Jolteon, and performed admirably.

Dean had no such issues. Ollivander declared that Normal-types were suited for almost any trainers. After some further questioning, Ollivander had Dean test a wand suited for ‘arena-transformation’ in a battle against an Espeon, and Dean passed with flying colors.

Finally, it was Harry’s turn.

“No Pokemon at all?” Ollivander said. “And your type… it’s quite hard to pin down. The Potter line bears an affinity with the Fire-type and the Ground-type, and I can certainly see elements of both in your temperament, yet there’s something more that I can’t quite pin down.”

“I can see the recklessness that James had,” said McGonagall. “But it’s true, there’s a certain mystery. Do you think it might be Lily’s influence?”

“Possibly, but look at him,” said Ollivander, as if Harry wasn’t even there. “Mister Potter, you are the spitting image of your father. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Not at all, my adoptive parents were very emphatic that my birth parents were dead and that therefore I should only try to remember the _good_ things about them,” Harry said.

“Clearly he’s a poison type, with that much sarcasm,” said McGonagall.

“With that much shifting,” muttered Ollivander, “I wonder…”

He went into a backroom and returned with a Pokeball. It looked just like a usual Pokeball, except there was a stylized S engraved in the red top half.

“I thought you said that Pokeballs were forbidden,” Hermione said accusingly to McGonagall.

“This was forged by the Smith himself,” said Ollivander indignantly. “The Eevee within is having lovely dreams of green fields and golden sun, with its soul fully intact.”

He handed the Pokeball to Harry. “Normally, I wouldn’t give an Eevee to just anyone. But I simply can’t resist the poetry of giving a Pokemon with so many possible evolutions to someone whose self is so enigmatic. Now, to my arena.”

Harry fidgeted with the Pokeball as he stood at the arena, which was a dusty open-air court in the back Ollivander’s shop. The Pokeball barely looked different from standard Pokeballs. He pressed the Pokemon release button, and the contained Eevee came out in a burst of white light. It looked at him, and cried out a greeting. It smiled at him, and though Harry had heard that when nonhumans smiled it was usually a threat, his heart melted nevertheless.

Eevee was a short brown Pokemon with four legs. It had two long pointed ears, a big bushy tail with a light patch at the end, and a bushy collar of pale fur around its neck. And it was his. His Eevee. Harry knew that Eevee were rare, and their genetic makeup was unstable so they often evolved into forms more suited for their environments. When he’d imagined going on a Pokemon adventure, he’d never thought that his starter Pokemon would be an Eevee, but suddenly the Eevee pounced at him!

He caught it, and it snuggled against him. It seemed to be purring.

“Well,” Ollivander called from across the arena, “she seems to like you.”

“Are you sure I can keep her?” Harry said. Even now, the possibility seemed unreal.

Ollivander chuckled. “I would be cruel to pull you apart after such a quick bond,” he said. “Now, you have the possible wands?”

Ollivander had given him a belt filled with a few wands that he suspected might be a good fit. He’d said that for the low-level combat they were engaging in, the risk of breakage was minimal. The belt also had a satchel for wands that were a bad fit.

“It’s art, not a science,” he’d said. “As we battle, you will be drawn to certain wands. You will wield them, and your magic will flow through them into combat. You will feel it in your heart when you wield the wand that is best for you and your partner.”

Ollivander smiled. “Let’s Go! Pikachu!”

He threw a Pokeball into the air. A yellow rodent erupted from it in a burst of light.

“Pika pika!” it said.

Harry, like every other human on the planet, was familiar with Pikachu. It was perhaps the most marketed Pokemon in the world. There were sonnets about Pikachu, love songs about Pikachu, countless snack brands, and countless media franchises. After the Disney corporation had been definitively defeated in court in its bid for perpetual rights to the likeness of Pikachu on the grounds of its character ‘Pally Pikachu’, the floodgates had been open for Pikachu to be slathered across every brand in every region.

That didn’t make it any less cute, or any less powerful. Pikachu were yellow rodents with long pointed ears, and tails shaped like lightning bolts. They had red cheeks. Somehow, they were able to manipulate electricity in a highly controlled manner, causing it to arc through the air to hit specific targets. Harry didn’t know the science behind it, but he’d heard that Pikachu’s evolved form, Raichu, was so adept at controlling lightning that it could hold its own against even the mighty Copperajah.

“Mr. Ollivander,” Harry said, a bit uncertain, “what moves does my Eevee know?”

Ollivander smiled, either mysteriously or cruelly. “That is something you must determine through the trial of battle. Now, let us begin. Minerva, if you would referee?”

Professor McGonagall nodded. “This informal battle between Harry of the Potters and Garrick Ollivander is to be one versus one, with trainer intervention but not participation. The battle will continue until one of the Pokemon is unable to battle. The purpose of this battle is to determine a well-fitting wand for Mr. Potter.”

Harry placed Eevee on the ground. Without being told, the fluffy creature trotted forwards and faced the Pikachu on the field of battle.

“Let the battle begin!” McGonagall said.

Ollivander raised his own wand. _“Gladiis saltamus!_ ” he cried. “ _Celeritas!”_

Two bursts of red light spouted from his wand. Ollivander’s Pikachu leapt into them. “Pi-ka,” it said, once it landed. It seemed more nimble and more aggressive, somehow.

“Don’t try to cast spells you haven’t learned,” McGonagall cried to Harry from the sidelines. “Rely on instinct for your spells.”

“The moment is won by those who act!” Ollivander said. “Pikachu, Volt Tackle!”

The Pikachu charged forward towards Eevee. Electricity crackled in its cheeks. With each step, the lightning burst from its cheeks, forking into the nearby air. With each footfall, the electricity got larger and lingered for longer, until the Pikachu was cocooned in a pulsating web of arcing electricity. Yet even that was just leakage, energy that the Pikachu couldn’t contain within its tiny body. If it made contact with Eevee, the power it contained would be discharged into Eevee’s form, in a process that was usually rather painful for the Pikachu itself.

“Eevee, wait for it to approach, then dodge with Quick Attack!” Harry shouted. The Eevee listened, crouching down and allowing the Pikachu to get even closer. Seconds before the moment of impact, it jumped over the head of the Pikachu.

“Eevee, use Sand Attack as soon as it turns around!” Harry shouted. The Pokemon trilled out its assent, and began kicking at the ground, loosening the soil. Meanwhile, the Pikachu crashed into the wall, bouncing off, looking slightly worse for the wear.

“ _Episkey_ ,” Ollivander said, pointing his wand at Pikachu. As Harry watched, the Pikachu’s scuffs faded.

“That’s not fair,” Harry said.

“We are wizards, Mister Potter,” Ollivander said. “We fight with our Pokemon in a more literal sense, yet you have not even picked up a wand. Pick up a wand, and let the heat of battle inspire you.”

He was right; Harry had been so caught up in the idea of getting to have a Pokemon battle that he hadn’t even touched his belt of wands. He groped at his belt, grabbing the first wand he could, and pointed it at the Pikachu, focusing on his desire to win.

“Centiskorch scale in ash wood,” Ollivander said. “Best suited for fiery all-out attackers.”

A few burning embers flew out of the tip of the wand.

“Pikachu, Light Screen.” Ollivander said calmly. His Pikachu bowed his head for a second, cheeks crackling with electricity. Arcs of lightning flew from the Pikachu to the walls, leaving an afterimage of a wondrous wall of light. Harry’s embers dissipated harmlessly against the wall.

“Not that one, then,” said Ollivander, nodding at Harry to switch wands.

“Eevee, keep using Sand Attack!” Harry shouted. This was his first Pokemon battle, and he wasn’t going to lose, even if he had to cover the battlefield in a cloud of dust to win. He dropped the wand into the discard satchel, but didn’t move to grab another one. “Keep using Sand Attack, and don’t stop until Pikachu is blind!”

Slowly, the clouds of dust began to build up, yet Ollivander did nothing to stop Eevee. The dust became so thick that even Harry could barely see Eevee through it, and could barely see the silhouette of Ollivander on the other side of the dust cloud. Yet the older wizard still had done nothing to act.

Ollivander pointed his wand at Eevee. “ _Confundus.”_

Eevee stopped digging at the ground. Instead, it started chasing its own tail, skipping around in joy.

“Eevee, use Quick Attack!” Harry shouted, but in vain. Eevee crouched on all fours, preparing to charge forward, but it stumbled over its own feet and fell on its face.

“The Confundus Charm,” McGonagall said, her voice ringing out over the battlefield, “It is a more refined version of the move Confuse Ray, allowing for the user to add nuances to the state of confusion that the primitive version of the move cannot.”

“Pikachu, Nasty Plot,” Ollivander said. Harry was unnerved. Nasty Plot, according to Pokemon psychics and psychologists, either involved inducing a state of sociopathy or repurposing the user’s sense of empathy to maximizing pain, but in battle science terms, it improved a Pokemon’s ‘special attack’, which usually made it stronger with moves that involved hitting a foe from a distance. Unfortunately, most of Pikachu’s moves fell into that category. He had to snap Eevee out of confusion. But how?

“You are a wizard, Mister Potter,” Ollivander said. It was an obvious, somewhat condescending nudge, but Harry reached for his belt nonetheless, and grabbed a wand.

“Xatu feather in yew,” said Ollivander. “Suited for shattering illusions. You’ve got a good sense for these things, as expected.”

Harry had chosen the wand randomly, but he would take what praise he could get. He raised his wand, and pointed it at Eevee, wishing for it to return to awareness. A shimmer of pale blue light appeared around Eevee, shining through the dust cloud, lifting it into the air several centimeters. Then, Eevee was slammed into the ground, and the light faded. It pushed itself back to its feet, looking winded, but resolved to fight. Harry looked at the wand in disgust, and dropped it into his discard satchel. He drew another one from his belt.

“Mudsdale mane hair in birch,” said Ollivander, from across the dusty field. “For those with their own tempo, those with vigor and a desire to shake the earth. You’ll be needing that. Pikachu, Shock Wave!”

Across the field, the Pikachu was surrounded by a sphere of yellow light, which throbbed with electrical power. It pulsed, sending a spherical wave of electricity outward from its body.

“Eevee, prepare to dodge,” Harry said. He wasn’t familiar with Shock Wave. He’d never seen it used in a Galar league match. For some reason or another, it wasn’t very popular in Galar. He hadn’t even been aware that Pikachu could learn that move.

“Futile, Mister Potter,” said Ollivander. “Shock Wave never misses.”

If that was the case, Harry would have to try something else. He swept his wand across the battlefield. A line of earth popped up, forming a wall, but only a few inches high.

It wasn’t enough to block the electricity. Eevee cried out in pain as the first of the Shock Waves hit it. Harry had no idea how long she would hold up, but he didn’t think letting her get defeated on her first battle would be good for morale.

“Synergy, Mister Potter,” said Ollivander. “Fight as one, not as many.”

Harry wracked his brain. What could Eevee learn? Something that would let it avoid the Shock Waves. But the only way to avoid the Shock Waves was to not get hit at all. He stared at the battlefield, through the clouds of dust, wishing that all that detritus, that earth tossed into the air, would nullify the electricity. It was honestly amazing that such a small Eevee had managed to move so much earth.

He pointed the wand at the ground before the Eevee, and shouted, “Eevee, Dig!”

Eevee looked at him in confusion, and Harry clarified, “Keep using Sand Attack, but just where I’m pointing!”

Eevee nodded (which was odd for a Pokemon to do, but Harry didn’t care, he’d come across a winning strategy) and started kicking up sand. Harry pointed his wand at the same place, and willed the ground to move up faster and faster. Slowly, Eevee started to vanish beneath the earth, but she wasn’t fast enough. Another wave of the shock wave hit her, and another. And then, she stopped digging.

“Eevee! Are you alright?” Harry shouted. Eevee didn’t respond. She could’ve just been tired, but Harry wasn’t going to count on it. Would he still be a wizard and Pokemon trainer if he’d gotten the first Pokemon he had killed? He rushed forward — Ollivander had graciously told Pikachu to stop using Shock Wave—and placed his hand on Eevee’s back as he knelt.

There was still a pulse. He breathed a sigh of relief, and then dropped his Mudsdale wand in his reject satchel. He raised his eyes to meet Ollivander, who was frowning, and Pikachu, who was barely scratched.

“You have been deprived indeed, Mister Potter,” Ollivander said sadly. “Your parents were both talented beyond words. To see you struggle so nobly… it truly breaks my heart.”

Harry felt empty. He was flawed. He was a failure. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had been right. He should’ve stayed at Grunnings. He never should’ve pursued his dreams of living with Pokemon, and fighting besides them. His Aunt and Uncle had seen it, so why couldn’t he have?

But this was their fault. They’d kept him from Pokemon, when it had been his birthright, from a few things Ollivander and Professor McGonagall had mentioned. Being a Pokemon trainer and a wizard, not being a sub-manager at Grunnings, was his inheritance. He wouldn’t let their hate define him, and he would prove himself worthy. He would prove himself a worthy son of his parents, and a worthy trainer of Eevee.

He drew the last wand.

“How did that get there?” muttered Ollivander. “No matter, perhaps an easier Pokemon to train…”

“No,” said Harry. “I choose Eevee. I don’t care if I know less than everyone else, or if I was kept from Pokemon until now, because I’m not going to let that stop me. I’m going to become the greatest Pokemon trainer and wizard this Region has ever seen. I’ll serve my Region, and I live through it. It’s who I was born to be. It’s my destiny, and even if I’m far from it right now, I’ll work hard every single day to get closer and closer to where I’m meant to be.”

His wand was warm in his hand, as if it was alive. He could feel the energy flowing through him, could feel the wand whispering to him, feel it telling him what it could do with the power that was inside of him. He tapped Eevee on the head, and drew the wand down its body. He could feel a part of himself that was at the edge of his awareness flowing through him into the wand, and from there into Eevee, suffusing its injured body with vitality.

Eevee opened an eye, and cried out in joy when it saw him. It slowly stood up.

“Remarkable,” whispered Ollivander. “Simply remarkable. Pikachu, Volt Tackle!”

“It’s you and me, Eevee,” Harry said, as he stood up. “The two of us, together. Let’s Go!”

He pointed his wand at the battlefield. “Eevee, Last Resort!”

Eevee leapt into the air, crying joyfully as it did so. Power surged through Harry’s wand, a power he could not describe. At the edge of his vision, he could see Ollivander’s other pets, various evolutions of Eevee, watching the battle.

A golden light burst from his wand, flowing towards Ollivander’s pet Eeveelutions, turning into seven different colors as they reached them: blue, red, yellow, green, cyan, purple, and black. Then, like an inverse prism, they focused on Harry’s Eevee, infusing it with power, granting it a shimmering rainbow aura.

“Impossible,” muttered McGonagall.

Eevee landed right in Pikachu’s path. It stood, solid, a rainbow of light against an incoming streak of yellow electricity. It stared Pikachu down. The rainbow shimmered, growing more and more intense every second. Then, at the very last moment, when Pikachu was about to strike, Eevee lunged, its head bowed.

Pikachu was knocked backwards. It struggled back to four legs, raring to go—and then it collapsed.

“Pikachu is unable to battle,” said McGonagall, somewhat slowly, as if she was in shock. “The match is concluded in favor of Harry of the Potters.”

Harry opened his arms, and Eevee jumped into them once more. She cried in exultation.

“Honor,” said Harry, gazing into Eevee’s eyes. “That’s what I’ll name you. That’s what you are, to me. Is… is that alright with you?”

Eevee—Honor, now—cried in joy again.

“That was wicked!” Dean shouted as he approached Harry.

“I suppose that was—well, fascinating,” Hermione said. “What was that spell you cast at the end?”

“I’ve seen phenomena similar to that, in the Z-Move Extreme Evoboost,” McGonagall said.

“Wow, I suppose there’s a lot I simply don’t know,” Hermione said cautiously, as if she were afraid of saying something incredibly stupid while trying to explain herself. “I thought Z-phenomena was localised to the Alolan Islands?”

“Usually,” said McGonagall, “but magic is—well, we don’t look a gift Ponyta in the mouth.”

“Well done, Mister Potter,” said Ollivander, clapping as he walked near. “You’ve found both your Pokemon and your wand. A spectacular performance. Though it is most curious…”

“Indeed, Z-Phenomena is a Gaunt trait…” McGonagall said.

“Not that, Minerva,” Ollivander said. He pointed one crooked finger towards Harry’s wand.

“That wand… I hadn’t intended to give it to you at all, yet now it seems like the perfect fit.”

Harry raised the wand. It fit perfectly in his hand, and felt warm, as if it was alive.

“That wand contains a feather from Ho-Oh, the rainbow bird, bringer of eternal life, the great bird of recurrence. Ho-Oh feather in holly. In all my years, I’ve only ever made two wands from Ho-Oh feathers. You hold one in your hand. The other… why, it made you an orphan.”

Harry was happy to get out of the shop after that, though McGonagall gave him no further answers.


End file.
